


5 Times Phil and Carl Touched

by nervousbakedown



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Love at First Sight, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Reverse Chronology, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:36:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7978609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervousbakedown/pseuds/nervousbakedown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It’s very intimate, to say the least.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times Phil and Carl Touched

**Author's Note:**

> the working title of this was "5 times phil and carl engaged in sappy, mushy behavior" but i thought it best to go with simplicity. enjoy!

**1.**

Sitting next to each other in the locker room was both the best and worst thing that happened to them. Phil knows that being in close proximity since Carl joined the Pens is what led their relationship to flourish in the first place, and they owed a lot of their inside jokes and memories of becoming friends to those locker room stalls.

The only bad thing is that sometimes Phil wants nothing more than to wrap an arm around Carl’s shoulders before a game, or to reassuringly keep a hand on his thigh while they listen to Coach talk. It isn’t professional to do these things, nor are they out to the team, so Phil’s urges will have to stay urges unacted upon.

Phil may be gazing at Carl a little too intensely as they sit before tonight’s game. He isn’t distracted by any means -- if anything, Carl helps him focus and relax.

Once Carl realizes he’s being stared at, well, he stares back, smiling with his eyes. After a few moments, Carl blinks and leans in towards Phil, mouth close to his ear. He puts a hand up to make sure he won't be heard or have anyone else read his lips. Phil likes being touched by him, even if it’s something so minor.

“I love you,” he whispers. Carl lets the words linger before pulling back, blushing and grinning. 

It’s the perfect solution to not being able to show PDA or say anything out loud. This is awfully private.

Phil ends up returning the favor, leaning over and whispering back to him, 

“I love you, too.”

 

**2.**

It’s a balmy June night. They won the Cup a few days ago. It would’ve been cool if the trophy was sitting outside with them now, but it wasn’t, which was okay too. There’s a thick blanket under them as they lay and stare up at the stars, hands bracketed behind their heads and legs crossed at the ankles. 

The sky over suburban Pittsburgh is clear; every visible star allows itself to be seen with such clarity. It’s been awhile since either of them have been stargazing. They can’t remember the last time, if ever, that they did something like this.

“God, it’s so beautiful,” Carl says softly. 

He didn’t even think Phil would be able to hear him, but he must have, because he responds, “Just like you.”

Phil’s already looking at Carl when he turns his head. Carl smiles and untucks his arms from under his head before rolling to his side, pressing close to Phil. 

Carl places a hand at his chest, rubs his palm over his beating heart, and sighs. 

“You’re such a sap,” he tells him, with the same tone and cadence one would say “I love you.”

 

**3.**

“Ow,” Phil winces, breathing in sharply through his teeth. Carl jumps in surprise and quickly withdraws his hand.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, “I forgot.”

Phil’s long-injured right hand was in dire need of treatment, but he wouldn’t be getting the surgery until the offseason. There was no way he was going to stop playing now, not when they were so close to winning the freakin’ Stanley Cup.

Carl forgets sometimes that Phil’s hand really shouldn’t be held, especially not tightly. It’s able to hold Phil’s stick through his glove, your average everyday things like turning doorknobs, but that was about all it could do.

Carl leaves Phil’s side momentarily. He then realizes Carl is going to stand at the other side of him, so he can hold his left hand instead of his right. 

“This better?” Carl asks once he laces their fingers together. His skin feels the same as Phil’s own -- the hands of a hockey player -- but his fingers are longer, more slender. They fit together well.

Phil looks down and finds himself still giddy at the notion of holding hands with Carl. He thinks it right to give Carl’s hand a squeeze in response. 

“Yeah,” he smiles. 

 

 **4.**

Hotel air conditioners are cold, chilling to the bone if one sits in front of them long enough. Half of Carl is freezing; the other half is being warmed by the teammate leaning against his side. 

The movie they’re watching is boring. No wonder Phil hasn’t said anything in awhile.

“Phil,” Carl says in an attempt to get his attention. When Phil doesn’t respond, he tries again.

“Kess,” he hisses in a half-whisper, “You asleep?”

Carl waits, but the only thing to be heard is that god-awful air conditioner.

“You’re asleep,” he talks to himself now.

No one has ever fallen asleep on Carl’s shoulder before. It’s very intimate, to say the least. How Phil fell asleep on his bony shoulder, Carl has no idea, but he’s completely relaxed. If Carl listens close enough, he can hear him breathe. 

He decides he’ll try to sleep too. Carl reaches for the tv remote and hits the ‘off’ button.

“Don’t worry,” he tells Phil once there’s pitch-black darkness, “I’ll try not to move.”

 

**5.**

Carl is the only one in the locker room when Phil gets there. Phil figures he’s probably early from getting used to a new city and all, leaving his house way before he had to to make sure he went the right way. Or maybe he was still living in a hotel, had yet to find a place.

Phil only met him just yesterday. They didn’t get to talk much, really. He knows of Carl, of course, because he’s an NHL-er who doesn’t live under a rock, but he doesn’t know him personally. He seems like a nice, fun-loving guy. Phil has a feeling he’ll get to know him pretty quickly. 

“Hey,” Carl says from his seat on the wooden bench, a broad smile gracing his face. 

Phil slows his walk, and his train of thought stops.

“Hey,” he smiles back.

Carl is still smiling when he gets back to taping up his shin guards. His golden hair flops forward as he leans down, and so he has to constantly tuck it behind his ears. It never stays put for more than a few seconds. 

When Carl is done taping his right shin guard down, the roll of tape slips out of his hand. Before he even realizes it, Phil is stepping forward and kneeling down at Carl’s feet to pick it up.

Carl picks it up, too, and their fingers brush. They touch for a few moments, actually. After the first second, Phil looks up at his new teammate. 

Piercing steel blue eyes that somehow manage to be soft are gazing at him. Phil doesn’t even remember to breathe, too captivated by that look on Carl’s face. He blinks once out of necessity and accepts what is happening.

This is how it goes for a while -- they test the waters. They touch and they stare.

“Thank you,” Carl says eventually, and for a second Phil doesn’t know what he’s talking about, thinks that maybe he’s saying _thank you for existing_ or _thank you for letting me look at you like that_.

The tape, Phil remembers. He’s talking about the tape.

He hands the small roll over to Carl, and the touch is gone, eyes no longer searching his soul. 

“No problem,” Phil says and stands up.

He doesn’t have to go far from Carl, not even a little bit, and he’s really thankful for it. Their lockers are right beside each other.


End file.
